


Standing in the way of control...

by violetknights



Category: SPN
Genre: M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetknights/pseuds/violetknights





	Standing in the way of control...

The first time it happened was three months after Sam went to Stanford. It was the first time he’d ever lived on his own, without Dad, without Dean. For so long he’d planned to go, escape from the claustrophobic intensity of his family’s paranoia. When finally he was free of it Sam realised that he missed it. He found it hard to settle into his new life.

He’d spent the whole time feeling like he was on the outside looking in. He’d tried so hard to be normal; lived in a dorm, gone to parties, got a job. But it didn’t work, all the time he was aware of that nagging ache that meant he was alone.

Sam felt like a hundred times a day he would want to turn to Dean. Sam would need to tell him a joke, tell him about a band he’d seen, or about the really hot chick in his class. Want to hold him and look into his eyes, take back all the terrible things they’d said to each other when he left.

Lying in bed at night Sam found the silence unnerved him. He was so used to hearing sleepy Dean noises in the night. He would wake to the silence and listen for the sound of his brother breathing. Only to be left feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach; because of course Dean was God knows where doing God knows what and Sam would probably never see him again.

The student parties left Sam cold. There were only so many times he could watch a bunch of drunken frat boys think it was funny to shave the eyebrows off the first poor bastard to pass out. He met Jess at one of them though, so they weren’t all bad. For a long time they were just friends, but it made living just a little easier to bear when he could share some of the small stuff with someone.

Sam moved out of the Dorm and into a tiny apartment, he swapped his job in the Campus bookstore for one in a bar frequented by ‘real people’. He served drinks, waited tables and worked the door when they were busy. Tony the owner said, “Man, you’re built like a freakin’ Yeti. You sure you’re a pre-law student and not a pro wrestler or something?” Sam had laughed along with the man, knowing how much he needed the job. What else have I got to do with my time anyway?

Sam could kill a werewolf, shoot an evil spirit at a hundred paces, knew a hundred and one Latin incantations; but he couldn’t boil an egg. It was those crappy everyday things that made his life so impossible. How often should I wash the sheets? Is it OK to eat Lucky Charms for Supper? How the fuck am I supposed to attend a full class load, write three papers and work five nights this week without Dean to look after me?

*************

 

The first time was an accident, at work late on a Friday night. He’d managed to get his Economics paper handed in only by pulling an all-nighter the night before. He’d then gone straight from school to work and all he wanted now was to finish his shift and get home. He could sleep for the next sixteen hours before his next shift started. Most of the bar’s customers had gone home, there were just a couple of hardcore drunks nursing their final beers while Sam and Tony cleared up.

“Okay, Sam put the rest of the glasses in the dishwasher then you can go. I’ll finish off,” said Tony tiredly. Sam had been miles away, wondering whether Dean was out hunting or tucked up somewhere safe. Tony’s voice brought Sam back with a jolt and a glass slipped from Sam’s hand before he could catch it.

“Damnit!” he cursed under his breath and dropped to one knee to pick up the pieces that had shattered on the floor. “That’ll come out of your wages!” Tony joked, and Sam grinned tiredly at him. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but a sudden flash of pain across his hand showed that he’d been careless. There was a deep gash right across the base of Sam’s thumb and the pain made him gasp. Blood swelled and throbbed, pooling in his hand and dripping to the floor as Sam watched in horrified fascination.

Sam was filled with a rush of unexpected clarity. The pain felt good, familiar and Sam felt like he was suddenly back in control. Tony rushed over with a clean dish towel, pressing it over the wound to try and stop the bleeding. “Jesus! Sam, are you OK?” he asked, and Sam felt warmed by the genuine concern in the man’s voice. “Yeah, I’ve had worse. I’ll go on home now and clean it up.” Sam smiled to allay his boss’s concerns.

Sam’s head started to spin and he sat down hard. He tried to remember the last time he’d been hurt. When Dean hit me, that’s when. Sam pulled his improvised bandage tighter round his hand as his jaw throbbed with the remembered pain. The night before I came here Dean punched me for leaving him. The shock of it had hurt worse than the punch; Dean had never hurt him before. Well, not deliberately anyway.

“Hey, Yeti! You about to pass out on me?” Tony asked.

“Nah, I’m good.” Sam said more lightly than he felt.

Tony looked at Sam, his blue eyes kind and compassionate. “You don’t have to go home Sam. You could come upstairs with me.” The invitation in Tony’s voice was clear. Even then Sam might have said no but then the older man said “I’ll take care of you.”

Sam was lost, the need to be looked after again overwhelmed him and he nodded his agreement. Sam watched as Tony shooed the drunks out into the night and locked the doors, put the cash in the safe and turned out the lights. When Tony reached for his undamaged hand Sam was passive and allowed himself to be led upstairs to Tony’s apartment.

The apartment was about ten times bigger than Sam’s, very tasteful with lots of understated wood and shiny metal. Tony took Sam into the kitchen; motioned Sam to sit down then reached up to fetch a first aid box from a cupboard. He ran warm water into a bowl and added antiseptic. “This is going to sting a bit,” he warned.

Sam nodded, “I know.”

Gingerly he removed the rag and put his hand into the bowl, watched as tendrils of pink stained the water. He inspected the wound, it was clean and not too deep, it didn’t look like there was any glass still in it. “I don’t think it’ll need stitching,” Sam remarked. Thinking how often did we stitch each other up? Dean was always so gentle…

Tony sorted out a dressing, helped Sam fix it on, and then cleared away the mess.

Sam liked watching Tony work. The man was a lot older, maybe mid thirties, he was as tall as Sam and blonde, but he had an economy of movement that reminded him of Dean. Tony fetched a couple of beers from the fridge. “Shall we go and make ourselves a bit more comfortable?” he asked. “Yeah, sure.” Sam followed him into the living area and sat beside him on the couch.

“We’ve been working together for a while now." Tony looked at Sam curiously. "I don’t think I know any more about you now than when you started.”

Sam smiled shyly. “Nothing to know really. My Dad wanted me to go into the family business; he disowned me when I came to college.” Sam picked up his beer and drank half of it in one go. “What you see is what you get.” He deliberately put his hand high on Tony’s thigh, used his thumb to caress small circles on the man’s jeans. It was a move that could get a rise out of Dean in about three seconds flat.

Tony met the challenge in Sam’s eyes and leaned in to kiss him. They explored each other for a while, Sam lost track of time, lost himself in the feeling of being held by strong hands. Moaned into the kisses, tasted the beer and the heat. Not like Dean, good, but not the same...

Tony began to undo the buttons of Sam’s shirt, ran his hand appreciatively over Sam’s well-muscled chest. Nice but…Dean’s not so much for seduction on the couch, more grabby and want you now…

Tony pulled away with a sigh, Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “What..?” “Sam, you’re a good kid and I like you, but…” Tony moved away a little and smiled sadly. “Sam, you were miles away. If we do this I want you here with me, not pretending it’s something else.”

Sam flushed. “I’m sorry…” He felt he owed to his friend to explain. “There was someone back home. I thought I’d moved on but…” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Tony smiled ruefully and carefully buttoned Sam’s shirt then stood up. “You get the couch tonight Yeti.”

Tony fetched a pillow and a comforter from the bedroom and handed them to Sam. “Sam, don’t brood about this. Honestly I’m fine with it. This way we can still be friends in the morning.” He leaned in and gave Sam a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well Sam.”

“Thanks Tony…for understanding.” Tony nodded then turned out the light as he went to his room. Sam snuggled down on the couch and slept better than he had in months.

*************

 

It was another couple of weeks before Sam did it intentionally. He had the night off from work and was trying to get ahead on the reading homework for the following week. Sam thought about how Dean had looked after him when he studied for his SATs. He’d brought Sam drinks and snacks, made him take regular breaks. One time, when Sam had been really tense, Dean had blown him in the shower while Dad dozed in the next room. That had been so hot, but the best bit had been after, when Dean held him for an hour without complaining about chick flick moments or calling him princess.

I’ve got no-one to take care of me now. I wish he was here…he was right, I am a fucking princess; I’m so pathetic.

Sam paced the tiny room with the book in his hand but he found it impossible to concentrate. I’ve never been this long without a fight before. Maybe I need to kill something. Sam recognised the physical needs driving his body. I’m was so used to living on adrenalin, a permanent state of flight or fight… or fuck if Dean had any say in the matter. Normal is just so … boring.

He put the book down with a sigh and went to check the few weapons he’d brought with him. Maybe I’ll check out the cemetery, there might be something wandering around I can kill.

As he pulled the bundle of weapons out from under the bed a memory hit him and made him feel physically nauseous. Homesick...I’m homesick for Dean, he realised.

Sam replayed the scene in his mind. Dean sat on a motel bed as he cleaned a gun, working in the oil with an old rag while Sam watched. Sam was four years old and he’d believed it was completely normal for his eight year old brother to be doing that. When he’d mentioned it at Kindergarten the school had sent in Children’s Services. He and Dean escaped out of the bathroom window and had to hide in the bushes by the Parking lot until Dad came back. Then it had been back in the car and move on again, a new motel that looked just like the last. That was the last time either of them went to school till high school.

Man! Our childhood was so fucked up!

A small hunting knife lay on the top of the pile. It had a handle carved from an antler and a silver blade which had protection runes etched into it. The knife had been one of Dean’s backup weapons, he had kept it in a small sheath on his ankle. Sam wasn’t sure how he’d come to bring it with him. Almost without noticing what he was doing Sam gently drew the blade across the pad of his thumb. The air hissed between his teeth as the pain once more gave him that flash of rightness. Yes! that’s the feeling! That’s hunting and fighting and Dean!

Sam had been around weapons long enough to know how deep he’d have to go to hit any major vein or artery. All the same he was careful as he laid the little blade in the crease of his hand and reopened the nearly healed cut from the night before.

Dean had sharpened the little blade with the same care he looked after all their weapons. Honed it on a whetstone until it was sharp enough to cut the goose bumps off a witch’s tit. God, Dean. You had a terrible way with words.

Sam’s breath hitched at the clean bright pain. Time had dulled the blade a little now but it was still razor sharp by anyone else’s standards.

Once when they’d fought a werewolf it had taken a swipe at Dean before they killed it. The mark of four claws still striped the top of Dean’s leg, just below his left hip. Sam moved slowly as if in a dream to unbutton his jeans and drop them to the floor. Almost lovingly he turned the little knife in his hands and caressed the blade. He used it to mark himself in the same place, four stripes with Dean’s knife. Each cut made Sam’s breath hiss and his mind burn. Part of him knew he’d just reached an all time low in being a fucked-up freak, but damn it felt good.

*************

 

The day after he cut himself Sam sat in class and felt focused. He was in control. The hot sun streamed through the window and the sweat smarted in the wounds. The stinging burned and made him feel clean and purposeful. When he went to the cafeteria at lunchtime he’d sought Jess out, the first time he’d initiated contact. She’d been so pleased to see him. Eagerly she introduced him to her friend’s, flirted from beneath half-closed eye lashes. She readily agreed to his suggestion that she meet him in the bar for a drink after work.

*************

 

He didn’t cut himself often, just when he was feeling lost and helpless. Only on the days when he felt like a little kid again, when he looked to Dean for comfort and Dean wasn’t there.

As his relationship with Jess progressed those times grew rarer, but sometimes Sam would feel the need to stay in control. Then he turned to the little knife like he would to a long lost friend. He would renew the relationship with pain that linked him to Dean and made him feel like he was home.

*************

 

Sam woke up at midnight sweating, with tears coursing down his face. He remembered his dream with crystal clarity. He’d seen a huge were creature, frantic with pain at being cornered. It picked Dean up and hurled him into a tree. His father had shot it with silver bullets while Dean lay grey and motionless on the ground. Sam didn’t know why, but he knew it was real, knew that thing had done something terrible to Dean, had hurt his brother.

He got up carefully so as not to disturb Jess and went into the living area. He sat all night on the floor by the phone, his knife in his hand. Please be Okay, please be Okay. Can’t live without you, please, please, please. The litany ran through his head all night, it felt like a prayer. He kept punching in the number to Dean’s cell phone but couldn’t bring himself to call it. He wiped his face when he found it was wet with tears, but hadn’t even realised he’d been crying.

When dawn broke Sam knew his Dad wasn’t going to call. Suppose that means Dean’s going to live…he could have called…guess he thought I wouldn’t care… Sam started using the tip of the blade to trace neat parallel lines up his arm. He watched entranced as the bright beads of blood swelled and dripped, the scarlet stain slowly soaked into his jeans.

Sam was still sitting there when Jess found him. He was slumped against the wall, blood still welling from a dozen cuts. She didn’t say a lot, just cleaned him up then made Coffee and pancakes for breakfast. It was just another one of the things he loved about her. She didn’t ask too many questions, just got on and dealt with it. She had slowly started to take Dean’s place, told Sam what to do, looked after him, helped him fit in.

That night she came up with her own unique solution to help Sam stop hurting himself.

*************

 

Stanford and Jess were light years away now. Sam and Dean had been on the road for nearly a year. Finally they’d caught up with Dad. Had helped him clean out the nest of vamps and get back the Colt. The puzzle pieces were falling in to place. Now all they had to do was find the yellow-eyed demon and then they might finally find some peace.

They stopped to hunt while they were tracking the demon. Anything that might give them a clue to its whereabouts was dealt with swiftly and shown no mercy. The three Winchesters were a formidable foe when they worked together as a team.

A series of mysterious disappearances led them to explore the abandoned mine workings at the edge of town. All the missing teenagers had been in the vicinity of the mine when they vanished. The local Police had searched on several occasions but hadn’t found any trace. The Winchester men drove out to the mine to investigate, as always they took both cars. Dean and Sam in the Impala, Dad in the truck. They never discussed why although they all knew. Sam and John had reached an uneasy truce but Sam didn’t want to push things too far and tried to give John some space.

*************

 

It was just after daybreak when the Winchesters arrived at the mine works to look for the missing girls. Not knowing what they were going to find they had loaded up with a variety of weapons before they set out to investigate.

“Sam! Get down the south tunnel.” John barked his orders, “Dean, circle round behind and see if there’s anything down that way.” Sam loped down the old mine tunnel, a sawn off shotgun in his hand. Last time I was in a tunnel like this there was a freakin’ Wendigo at the end of it.

A pile of rubble made a good position where he could hole up and assess the situation. He watched as Dean disappeared in the tunnel to his right, saw John as he shone a flashlight down a deep ventilation shaft.

Tap, tap, tap

What the…

Tap, tap, tap  
What is it? Why is it familiar? Think dude, think!

Tap, tap, tap

Mines…missing kids…tapping… “Oh fuck, Dad! Dean! Get out now!” Sam yelled as he sprinted back up the tunnel and out of the mine.

“What’s the hurry dude?” Dean drawled as he appeared beside his brother, closely followed by John. “It’s Tommy Knockers. I heard them,” said Sam succinctly.

“Back to the motel then,” ordered John. “We need to figure out how to get rid of them fast and move on.” He opened the door of the truck. “We don’t need a distraction like this now,” he snarled.

*************

 

Back in their room John continued to bark out orders as he expected his little soldiers to fall into line. “Sam, you get on the internet and find a way to stop these things.” He grabbed a jacket and his cell phone. “Dean you get whatever weapons your brother needs, I’m heading over to Bobby’s. We’ve got things to discuss.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to say please,” Sam muttered. He knew he would have done the research any way but… It would be nice to be asked. I worked out what the freakin’ things were; he didn’t even say well done.

As his Dad banged the door behind him Dean switched on the TV. “Go for it geek boy.” He popped open a can of soda and began flicking through the channels. Sam scowled at him then propped himself on his bed and opened his laptop. A quick Google soon gave him all the information he needed.

“Tommy knockers are the ghosts of long dead miners embodied as little two foot high pixie creatures,” Sam read. “They can be helpful or not, depending on how you treat them”.

“Well these guys are definitely not,” drawled Dean. “So how do we kill ‘em?”

“It’s standard evil spirit stuff, plenty of rock salt and fire,” Sam replied.

“Dynamite dude! We’ll blow up the mine and trap the little bastards down there.” Dean jumped to his feet. “We’ll need more explosives than I’ve got. I’ll see what I can rustle up.” He shrugged into his Jacket. “You stay here and get some rest Sammy, I won’t be long.”

Alone in the motel room Sam felt a familiar wave of helplessness overtake him. He hated being with Dad and Dean when they were like this. ”Do this Sammy, do that Sammy, don’t ask questions Sammy. Sam sighed. I’m not a fucking twelve year old anymore!

Sam shut the laptop down with a snap and went into the bathroom. He was hot and miserable; all he wanted was for this to be over. He cupped his hands and splashed cold water over his face. Do I really want it over? What have I got to go back to? Jess is dead, Dean is here…  
Unable to cope with the path his thoughts had taken him, Sam reached down to the sheath on his ankle and found the knife.

Sam shut and locked the door. Can’t let Dean catch me doing this… He unbuttoned his jeans and let them fall to the floor. His fingers found his favourite spot to cut, the stripes on his thigh that matched Dean’s werewolf scars. His hands shook as he tried to touch the tip of the blade to the first mark.

It felt as right as breathing when he drew the sharp point along the length of the scar. God damnit! Yes that feels…back in control. As he started to cut along the second line Sam lost the power to think, just Dean…Dean…Dean… echoed through his head. As he started the third line he heard Dean come back into the motel room. By that point Sam couldn’t stop; the sharp lines of pain that made his breath hiss and his heart beat faster was the only thing that made him feel alive.

*************

 

When Dean came back from calling Bobby he noticed Sam was in the bathroom. “That’s cool, Bobby’s got a load we can have,” he yelled. When Sam didn’t reply he didn’t think anything of it and he pottered around the room as he double checked the weapons and supplies. After a few minutes of checking ammo he realised that Sam hadn’t come back, he couldn’t hear water running either.  
“Hey dude,” he yelled. “You’ll go blind in there!” When he got no response Dean got up and knocked on the door. “Sammy, what you doin’?” He was worried when he still got no reply. “Sam, answer me or I’m breaking the door down,” he threatened.

Dean fished in his pocket for his lock picks. “Sammy, I’m comin’ in!” he warned. He listened for the click then yanked open the door. Sammy was sitting on the floor with a knife in his hand. Four deep bloody grooves had been carved into his thigh and his skin was waxy. He stared vacantly at the wall, didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Dean was there.

A wave of nausea hit Dean and he had to swallow hard to keep himself from retching. “Sam, what the fuck…?” He grabbed a towel and pressed it to the wounds. Sam startled at his touch and his eyes slid back into focus,  
“Shit Dean, it’s nothing.” He tried to push Dean’s hand away. “Dean it’s OK, I can deal with this.” Sam let the knife fall from his hand to the floor.

“Uh uh! No way.” Dean’s voice was low and angry, filled with hurt. “Sammy how could you do this?” Dean clenched his fists, the muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I bust my ass to keep you safe. How...?” How do I protect you from yourself?

“Talk to me, dammit!” Dean put both hands on Sam’s shoulders and for a terrible moment Sam thought Dean was going to shake him. Then he exhaled with a long shuddering sigh and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “We’ll work it out. Okay, Sammy?” Sam was angry then; his jaw and fists clenched as he finally looked up at his brother. “Work it out! How are you going to do that then, Dean?” He pulled away from Dean’s grasp. “A band aid and a cookie just don’t do it for me anymore!”

Sam grabbed his jeans and pushed past Dean to get out of the bathroom. He found his duffle and rummaged out a first aid kit and tried to find a dressing. His hands shook so much that he dropped the kit on the floor and had to scrabble to find the things he needed.

Dean watched helplessly as Sam started to patch himself up. Not knowing what else to do he cleaned up in the bathroom, found an old rag to mop up his baby brother’s blood. Dean’s throat was tight and constricted as he worked. Sammy, Sammy, how do we deal with this? He wadded up the bloodstained rag and put it in the trash. He picked up the little knife and rinsed it under the tap.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was tense and strained. “Are you gonna tell?” Dean looked up to see his brother watching him from across the room. One look from those puppy dog eyes made Dean feel like Sam was eight years old again. Dean wanted to take him in his arms and hold him to his heart; like he used to when Sammy was still a kid. He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t mean I’m gonna forget about it though.” He tucked the knife into his belt. “We’ll talk later.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean I…” There was a sharp rap on the door signalling John’s return. “Later,” Dean promised, as he went to let their father in.

*************

 

Dean checked the explosive device one last time; he had set it as deep into the mine as he dared to go. The little fuckers knew he was up to something; the eerie tapping came from all around him and had grown more frenzied as he worked. Finally he flicked open his lighter and lit the fuse then he ran like fuck, blood pumping and pulse racing as the charges behind him began to detonate.

Sam watched with bated breath as Dean emerged from the smoke and flames. He’s like some goddam action hero. Like Bruce or Arnie, only Dean’s way hotter than either of them. That thought was unbearable because Dean hadn’t shown any sign in nearly a year that he wanted Sam that way.  
Sam screwed his thumb hard down onto his wounded hip until the pain made him gasp and blink.

John looked at him strangely and seemed to be about to speak. The moment was lost when Dean flung himself behind the Impala where John and Sam waited.

They all watched as the huge explosion made the ground rumble and quake. Flames billowed from the cave entrance and the boarding that surrounded it fell back down into the tunnel.

“I fucking love a good explosion!” Dean high-fived his brother as the mine disintegrated. “That bomb was a work of art,” he stated gleefully. Sam grinned at him tiredly. “Yeah Dean, you’re the master of rock salt and dynamite!”

“Ok boys, I want you to head back to the motel, do some more research on the colt.” John slung his bag into the truck. “I’m going with Bobby to check out a lead on the Demon, I’ll be back in three or four days.”

“Sir! Yes sir!” replied Sam. Dean shot him a distrustful look, not knowing if he was being snarky or not.

Oblivious to the reactions of his boys John briefly dropped his hand onto Dean’s shoulder then climbed into the truck and drove off.

The look in Sam’s eyes when he turned back to Dean was hard and mutinous. “He’s doing his best, Sam,” Dean defended.

“Yeah, well it wouldn’t kill him to say well done.” Sam opened to door of the Impala. “That bomb was neat work, Dean, and he...” Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He got in the car and slumped down in the seat, moodily picking at the frayed threads on his jeans.

*************

 

Dean got in beside his brother not knowing what to say, his elation at the explosion had evaporated at Sam’s distress.

Oh God I can’t cope with this emo bullshit right now! Dean was exhausted all of a sudden. “I’m hungry Sam, let’s go get cleaned up and get somethin’ to eat.” Dean started the engine and pressed in a Metallica tape, then turned the volume up loud so they wouldn’t have to talk.

*************

 

When Sam woke his brother was still sleeping. The motel room was shabby and claustrophobic; Sam needed to get some air. Quietly he dressed and slipped out of the room. He saw a play park, lots of colour and noise, children having fun and being normal. Sam got a soda from the machine in the motel then wandered over there.

Sam sat on a bench in the park and watched the kids play. There was one kid, a little blonde boy about six or seven who was learning to ride a bike. It was a shiny red one with a loud bell, just the sort Sam wanted for Christmas when he was seven. His Dad had got him a crossbow instead. Only Dean had realised how disappointed he was.

The kid’s Dad helped him. All the time he called out encouragement, held him, supported him. Every damn time the kid fell off the Dad picked him up and sat him right back on again. When the kid got more confident he knew just the right moment to back off so the kid could revel in his success. Finally, when he was starting to get tired the Dad said, “Well done sport, you did great. Let’s go get an ice-cream.”

As he watched them together Sam was breathless, like he was lost or drowning. When he was that age it was Dean who’d tried to teach him the normal stuff. Dean who’d taken him for ice-cream, taught him to read. His Dad had told him that the world was a really scary place. Taught him about silver bullets, and rock salt and how to load a sawn off shotgun. It’s not fair! I never got to be a normal kid…and now I sound like I’m six again. Sam chewed nervously at the skin round his thumbnail as he remembered how Dean had cared for him, even though he was just a kid himself.

He was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone on the bench. He knew it was Dean without having to look. Dean smelled of leather and cheap aftershave, warmth radiated from him even thought the morning air was still chilly.

“Did you see them?” Sam asked quietly. He pointed at the figures in the distance as they retreated from the park. “That Dad and his kid with, the bike?” Dean nodded.

“Yeah…” he said hesitantly.

“That was what I wanted… that was normal.” Unconsciously Sam’s hand dropped to worry at the stripes cut into his thigh through the fabric of his jeans. “Dad never did any of that stuff for me.” Fuck I sound like a whiny little brat again.

*************

 

Dean took Sam’s hand in his because it was the only way he could think of to stop his little brother from making himself bleed again. “Don’t Sammy,” he said gently. He’s so cold. How can I help you? What the fuck do I do?

“Dean, I never realised till I went away what you did for me.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and gave Sam a flash of that special Dean smile, “You were a pain in the ass little brother, but you were my pain in the ass little brother.”

Sammy smiled wanly at him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that stuff, it was Dad’s job.”

Sam moved to pull his hand away from Dean’s then stopped. “You always did what he asked. Dad says jump, you say how high.” Sam looked at Dean earnestly. Dean found the pain in Sam’s soft brown eyes as heart-wrenching as his brother’s words.

“You’re better than that, Dean. You’re worth more than that.” Sam’s voice rose and Dean looked to see if anyone was watching them, but the park was nearly deserted now. “He never noticed all the stuff you did for us, how you made us a family.”

The pain and torment in Sam’s voice made Dean want to put his fist through something.

“We’re just caught in Dad’s whirlwind,” Sam continued. “It was a fucking tragedy that we lost mom, but he killed us as surely as if we’d burned up in the fire.” Sam now clung to Dean’s hand as if it was a life raft. “The really crazy thing… all I wanted was normal; when I got my shot at it I fucked it up.” Now Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper and Dean leaned into hear him. “I sliced myself to bits on your hunting knife because the pain was the only thing I could relate to.” His voice cracked and broke. “It was the only thing that stopped me from chucking it all in and running back to you.” Angrily Sam dashed away tears with the back of his hand.

Dean let Sam sit silently for a minute while he collected himself. He needed me! He wanted me as much as I wanted him. When he could see that Sam was back in control he said “How long have you been doin’ it? Cuttin’ on yourself like that?” he asked carefully.

“A little while now. Since Stanford I guess.” Sam said in a voice that was still barely more than a whisper.

“Uh huh… Did… did Jess know?”

“Yeah she knew.” Sam gave a wry little smile. “I didn’t do it so much when she was around.”

Gently he pulled his hand away from Dean's as he realised they were sitting in public holding hands like a couple of God knows whats. “If she thought I needed to cut myself she’d fuck me. Fuck me till I couldn’t remember my own name, let alone what I was upset about.” Sam smiled at the memory of Jess in her little Halloween nurses outfit, the last night they’d had together.

Sam picked at the seam of his jeans, felt tremors like little aftershocks shoot through the cuts on his leg. “So what you gonna do then, Dean? Cos’ locking up all the sharp objects probably isn’t an option in our line of work.”

*************

 

Sam smiled hesitantly but Dean could feel the pain that radiated from Sam in waves. Dean felt the weight of the responsibility that was Sam. My little brother. Sammy needs me. Gotta take care of Sammy. He picked his words carefully. Words were Sam’s area of expertise and Dean was all too aware that one word out of place would mean the difference between Sam being able to stop, and Sam going too far and really hurting himself.

“I trust you, Sammy. Give me your word that you won’t do it without telling me. We’ll take it from there.” Dean’s calm hazel eyes appraised Sam’s face to make sure he was really listening. “If you have to do it I’ll make sure you don’t go too far. I’ll patch you up afterwards if I have to. Whatever it takes Sammy, but we do it together.”

Sam looked at his brother with awe and Dean visibly relaxed as he realised he’d said the right thing. “Yeah, thanks … I will.” Dean exhaled loudly. He looked at Sam intently, eyes taking in every inch of his little brother, saw how much he’d changed and grown. “Sam I…” Dean’s breath hitched and he cleared his throat. “Sam I tried to give you space after Jess died, then after a while I didn’t know how you felt, but…” Fuck this emo shit is hard!

Sam’s eyes widened and he bit his lip. “Sam I still feel the same, you’re still…” special…mine…fuckin’ gorgeous!

Sam grinned and then stood up. “Come on then, dude. Let’s get something to eat and head back to the motel. There was no mistaking the invitation in his voice and Dean was only too willing to accept it.

*************

 

It all started well enough, kisses that were as familiar as breathing, touches that relearned old pathways and created new ones. Sam moaned Dean’s name and pulled at his shirt. Dean tangled his fists in Sam’s hair and sucked a deep hickey on his neck. marking you, making you mine again! he thought fiercely.

He knew the moment when Sam started to retreat, physically and emotionally. He could feel the shutters come down on his brother’s lust. As Sam pulled away from him Dean felt abandoned and discarded.

“No Dean, I don’t want a pity fuck.” Sam was shaking and the muscle in his jaw pulsed.

“It’s not a pity fuck, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was broken and his hands trembled as he began to unbutton Sam’s fly. Dean’s clear hazel eyes didn’t waver from Sam’s face for a second.

Sam grabbed both Dean’s wrists and pinned them to his sides to stop Dean from moving. “I said no!” Sam yelled.

Dean looked at him steadily. “It’s not about pity,” he said again. “It’s about pain and need and love. It’s about comfort for both of us.”

Even though Sam still had his wrists pinned Dean leaned forward until his lips were a whisper away from meeting Sam’s. “Tell me you don’t love me Sammy and I’ll stop.” Dean’s voice was low and throaty and God! I can feel his breath on my lips. “Dean,” Sam moaned in spite of himself. His voice was anguished. “Dean I…”

“It’s too late for words, Sam. I’m done talkin’.” Dean leaned forward that final millimetre so that their lips met.

Sammy was shivering and he closed his eyes, but he didn’t try to pull away. Dean’s continued to kiss Sam tenderly, as if he was something fragile and precious. Sam’s lips parted and Dean was able to press in closer, the kiss grew deep and urgent. Sam still grasped Dean’s wrists but he moved into the kiss accepting Dean’s hot, urgent mouth on his.

Suddenly it was as though a spell had broken. Sam released his hold on Dean’s arms, bringing one hand up to cradle Dean’s head, rested his other hand on Dean’s hip. His response to Dean’s kiss grew frenzied and impatient. Just as suddenly he pulled away again.

“No Dean, I can’t do this. It’s all just too fucked up!” He grabbed his jacket from the floor where it had fallen and slammed the door in his hurry to get out of the room.

Stunned, Dean dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, he was still panting, his lips throbbed from Sammy’s frenzied kiss. “Oh shit! Sammy, what have I done?”

*************

 

Dean paced the room for a while and had tried his brother’s cell only to hear it ring uselessly from the nightstand. Eventually he lay down on his bed fully clothed until he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

He was woken by shouting. Sam was outside and calling his name. “Dean! Dean where are you? Dean what room are we in?”

Dean flung open the door; Sam was outside in the rain and totally off his face drunk. “Dean!” he yelled again, as he took a drink from a nearly empty bottle of cheap shit Whisky. “Dean! I fucked it up again.” He made a sound that was halfway between being a hiccup and a sob. Sam dropped to his knees on the ground and started retching. Dean hauled him up and dragged him into the motel room, just managed to get him over he toilet before he started puking in earnest.

Sam started sobbing more and Dean held his hair back off his face, shushing him like he used to when Sam was a baby. “It’s Ok, Sammy. I’ve got you; you’ll feel better in a minute.” Sam slumped back against the wall, damp from the rain, stinking of whisky and vomit, sexy as an old dishrag. Dean didn’t think he’d ever loved him more.

Dean wrung out a washcloth in cold water and began to wash Sammy’s face and hands. He could see that Sam was falling asleep where he sat. Once again Dean hauled him to his feet and lugged Sam out to lay him on the bed. “God Sammy, when did you get so freakin’ big?” Sam’s only response was a groan. “Dude are you gonna puke again?” No answer, the Sasquatch had passed out cold. Dean sighed, “Serve you right if I leave you like that you big freak” he muttered.

Tenderly Dean began to strip his brother off and then eased him beneath the covers. He rolled Sam onto his side so that if the idiot was sick again he wouldn’t choke. Dean was about to get back into the other bed. He took off his boots and flung his jeans over a chair. He looked at Sammy out cold and snoring, hair plastered damply across his forehead.

Eventually Dean got into the bed with his brother and spooned around him. Sammy sighed a soft sleep filled noise and snuggled back into Dean’s embrace. At least he knows what he wants when he’s asleep! Dean thought wryly, before he allowed himself to relax into the feeling of rightness that went along with finally having Sammy back in his arms again.

*************

 

“Dean! I think I’m dead…” Dean woke to Sammy grousing and moaning. “Serves you right little bro! You forgot the rule.”

Sam groaned again, “You what?”

“The rule, dude. If you’ve ever got alcohol you always give me half.” He laughed gently at Sammy’s pain furrowed face. “That is so totally self-inflicted, you deserve it.”

“Oh fuck!” Sam rolled off the bed and dashed for the bathroom. Dean could hear him retching and puking and however much it served the dumb ox right, Dean went to help him because that’s what Dean always did.

*************

 

After several cups of strong coffee and a shower Sam slowly approached feeling better when Dad called.

Four little girls had disappeared into thin air two towns over. Even though the type face blurred and his head pounded Sam had no option but to trawl through Google for the details. The fact that all the children had been playing in the churchyard when they vanished was what made John think the disappearances might be supernatural. Everything that Sam found seemed to bear out John’s suspicions. The boys had no option but to climb into the Impala and head over to the church to find out more.

They started with the church yard but the EMF meter barely registered anything. “This is weird dude!” Dean drawled, “We should be getting something’ showing up.”

“Yeah, I’ll go check the church, you wanna find the priest? He was the last person to see Manda-Sue and Betty Thorne before they vanished.” Dean nodded and loped off in the direction of the Priest’s house.

Sam creaked open the church door, the sound boring through his still pounding head like a nail was being hammered into it. The church was deserted, dusty silk flowers on the alter showed that this was not one of those churches with a large congregation and a church wives group. The pews were dirty and the whole place felt decidedly unloved, but the EMF meter remained stubbornly silent. Sam searched the place thoroughly but it was tiny, no place to hide anything bigger than a bible, let alone four six year old girls.

“I found the priest,” Dean drawled. “Old guy with gravy stains on his dress.”

“Cassock” Sam corrected.

“Whatever, anyway he wasn’t any help.” Dean responded.

Sam continued to shine his torch into corners as he poked around the church.

“Over there.” Dean pointed to a patch on the flagstones that was a little scratched.

Sam pulled his gun and aimed it at the aisle where Dean was preparing to lift the stone. It swung back easily on some sort of pivot leaving a dark gaping hole which emitted a terrible smell of putrefaction. Sam shone his flashlight down into the darkness.

“Oh Jesus!” he choked as he reeled backwards and fell to his knees retching. Dean took the flashlight and peered in to see what was down there. A tiny room-like crypt was hidden under the floor. The bodies of the four little girls were posed on tiny chairs round a table set for a tea party. Green mould fuzzed their faces which were swollen, their heads lolled to one side on obviously broken necks. A rat sat on the tea table gnawing at the party food.

“Oh my God!” The blood drained from Dean’s face as he pulled Sammy back and started dragging him out of the church. “We’ve got to get out of here bro.” Sammy shook his head. “We’ve got to help them,” he moaned desperately. Dean held Sam up as he paused to wipe their fingerprints from the door handle. “This is grim but it’s murder, it isn’t supernatural,” he said firmly.

“We can’t just leave them Dean,” Sam pleaded. “We’ll get back to the car and call the police,” Dean promised.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was anguished. “We have to find out who did this, we have to stop them.” Dean noticed the beads of sweat breaking on Sam’s forehead, grim lines of pain were etched into his face. Dean stopped then and put a cool hand on Sammy’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Sammy; we got to get you out of here.”

He opened the door of the Chevy and gave Sam a little push to make him get into the car. “We can’t handle everything, dude. We’re not Batman and freakin’ Robin.” He flipped open his cell phone. “The monster who did this wasn’t one of ours, the Police can handle it.”

Sam nodded dumbly and watched Dean make the call. He leaned back against the seat, the cool leather at the back of his neck doing nothing to ease the pounding in his skull.

*************

 

Dean could see how much pain Sam was in and offered to get him some Tylenol from the Circle K across the street from the motel. Sam smiled wanly, “Thanks, could you get me a can of coke too?” Dean nodded and left Sam sitting wearily on the edge of his bed.

They’d watched from a distance as the Police came and cordoned off the church, and saw the old priest being led off in hand cuffs. Sam ached to draw a gun, his finger had itched to pull the trigger. He knew his aim was good; he could have obliterated the old guy and been long gone before the police knew what had happened. Dean had stopped him. Taken away Sam’s .22 and quietly insisted “It’s not our job.” His words left Sam angry and scared and out of control.

Sam’s hands shook he wanted his knife so badly. “Come back now Dean, please come back!” he muttered. He paced the room, the minutes felt like they’d stretched to hours by the time Dean got back with the meds.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was tiny and desperate. “Dean I need to…I need my knife.” He couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment that he knew would be there.

*************

 

“Sammy?” Dean could see at once that Sammy was completely strung out. Fuck, I shouldn’t have left him. “Sammy, here take this.” Dean popped the cap of the Tylenol and shook three into his hand; he helped Sam take them with the Soda. He wanted nothing more than to be able to take away Sam’s pain.

“Sam, please don’t… please, there must be something else.” Dean implored. “Dean you promised.” Sam’s voice was breathy and tormented and Dean knew he had no choice.

Sam bit his lip and rolled up his shirt sleeve. Dean could see faint scars train tracking his brother’s arm and wondered how he’d failed to notice them before. He sat on the bed behind his brother, handed him the knife. “I did promise, you’re right. If you need the control you take it. Every step of the way, Sammy we do this your way.”

*************

 

Sam took the knife and twisted it in his hand for a moment, watched the light flash and glint off the blade. He could feel Dean beside him - warm, solid, secure. What the fuck am I doing? Sam put the knife tip on the pale skin of his forearm, pressed a little and watched as a single bright bead of blood welled up, heard Dean’s hiss of shared pain. Then Sam threw the knife away and watched it spin across the room.

He twisted himself around into Dean’s body, buried his face in Dean’s neck, felt himself surrounded by Dean’s heat, and his scent and his love. “Fuck Dean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Dean held him close for a moment then pulled away so he could look at Sam’s puppy dog eyes. “You don’t have a monopoly on this emo crap you know.” He said softly. “All us Winchesters self destruct in our own way. The bottle is Dad’s way so don’t you be tryin’ that shit again.”

Sam smiled wanly, “No sir!” he said fervently, although the pain in his head was starting to recede it was enough to put him off drink forever. “What about you, dude? I thought you were perfect!” Sam chuckled.

Dean was so relieved to see his brother smile. “Damn right I am! My drug of choice is the girls’ bro. You think it’s healthy to be this much of a stud?”

Sam looked at him, his big eyes serious again. “It hurt me, Dean, seeing you with Cassie, hearing you talk about Amy and all those others.”

Dean groaned deep in his throat. “God Sam, I never meant to hurt you.”

Sam kissed him then and gently bit his jaw. “Jerk!” He settled back so that he was half lying across Dean’s lap, stared up into Dean’s face with such a look of perfect trust that Dean suddenly felt that everything was going to be alright.

“Sammy I could fuck a hundred women and it would never mean a thing.” Dean’s slowly started to stroke Sammy’s face, his fingers tracing lazy trails over Sam’s skin. “There’s only one person in the world that I can make love to and that’s you. You tell me how awful it was when you were away, but you coped, you had Jess, your job, you had friends.” He tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair and Sam leaned into his touch.

“What did I have? As soon as you left Dad started sending me huntin’ alone, I hardly saw him.” Dean leaned back against the headboard, closed his eyes. “I had this loneliness tearing a hole inside me. I tried to fill it however I could, with drinkin’ and fightin’ and women.” His voice cracked and Sam sat up so he could hold his brother, give back some of the comfort he was so used to receiving.

“I thought I’d never see you again. But in my head it was always you; it’s only ever been you.” Dean’s voice broke again and a single tear escaped from his normally iron control and slid down his face. Sam reached up to wipe it away with his thumb, but it seemed too precious to waste, so he leaned in to kiss it away, tasted the bitterness of Dean’s pain with his lips.

When their lips met the pain evaporated, gentle kisses and sweetness gradually deepened into passion as they both realised how long they’d been denying themselves and each other. Sam pulled off his shirt, tried desperately to get Dean’s off too without pausing their kiss.

*************

 

Dean laughed into Sam’s mouth and it made their lips buzz. Sam’s touch on Dean’s skin was urgent. Fuck, how many pairs of hands has he got? thought Dean as his little brother clutched up inside his shirt, then one hand was behind Dean’s head, then he was trying to get into Dean’s jeans. Sam’s hands were shaking, he was literally trembling all over and Dean knew he had to take control, set the pace or it would be over in seconds.

Dean stood back and swiftly removed his clothes, then helped Sam take off the rest of his. Sam lay back on the bed eyes blown wide with lust. Dean bit his lip and gasped as Sam reached out and grabbed his cock. “Slow it down, Sammy we’ve got all night.”

“I can’t Dean, I need you... need you inside me.” His words spoke straight to Dean’s dick which twitched and leaked pre-come. Sam rubbed his finger over the tip of Dean cock, collecting the fluid then sucking it off. He held his finger to Dean’s lips and Dean knew he was lost. “Fuck Sammy, you are such a slut!” Dean was left breathless by the wanton longing in Sam’s face.

“Fuck me, Dean. Now!” Sam commanded.

“Jesus!” Dean groaned at Sammy’s words, Sam had always known exactly which buttons controlled his big brother. Dean fished in the nightstand for lube with one hand; he used the other to ease a pillow under Sam’s hips. Cold slick felt amazing on heated skin as he began to prepare Sam’s body; Sam moaned and bucked as Dean slid first one then two slicked fingers into him.

Sam writhed as Dean’s fingers hit that sweet spot deep inside him. Dean had to use his other hand to hold Sam still as he finally withdrew his fingers and squeezed another dollop of slick into the palm of his hand. He hissed as he smeared the cool goo onto his aching dick. “Ready, Sammy?” he asked.

“Fuck yeah!” Sam gasped.

Dean crawled up the bed until he was lying over Sam and he kissed him deeply again, feeling Sam sweaty and desperate beneath him. Dean rocked back onto his heels, knelt between Sam’s spread thighs. “Now Dean, please. I need you now. Fuck me now, Dean. Please.” Sam’s voice was fraught, his need overwhelming. Fuck that is so hot I could come now! The sight of Sam spread out and begging for him was almost too much.

Inch by inch he eased himself forward until he was buried to the balls in Sam’s hot willing channel. Sam bucked up to meet Dean’s thrusts and Dean was glad he was going to get more chances to do this because this time it’s going to be over far too soon. He held himself still for a moment, wrapped his hand round Sam’s dick, trying to regain control.

But Sam was not having any of it, his tight muscles flexed and squeezed and then Dean was tumbling over the edge, hoping to all the gods that he’s taking Sammy with him.

*************

 

When Sam woke up Dean was lying beside him looking smug. “Mornin’ princess.”  
Sam grinned, pleasantly aware of the ache in his thighs. ”Jerk!” was the snappiest comeback he could think of. God I missed this.

“Bitch!” came Dean’s standard reply.

“You love it!” Sam retorted. Dean kissed him them, long and hard and full of promise.

“Yeah I do,” Dean said when he finally came up for air. “Come on mornin’ breath, time to take a shower.”

Sam groaned. “No way dude, I wasn’t planning on leaving this bed all day.”

Dean grinned at Sam, he’d forgotten how insatiable Sam could be when he got started. “Dad called, he’s got a lead on the colt. He’ll be here in an hour.”

Sam closed his eyes again. “Fuck, no!” he groaned.

“That’s what I thought too, but still we got an hour.” Dean smirked. “Wanna play Batman and Robin?”

Sam hit him with a pillow. “Only if I get to be Batman,” Sam laughed.

“No way, Dude! Little brothers always have to be Robin… it’s the law!” Dean added in his most annoying big brother voice.

Sam grabbed his brother and kissed him deep, didn’t care about morning breath or stubble, just knew there was nothing else he would rather be doing. “Guess we’d better go and take that shower then ‘cos we’ve only got fifty seven minutes left.”

"Now that's where you're wrong, Sammy." Dean kissed him again. "We've got a life time."

The End


End file.
